A certain romance attaches to a lost work of art. All the more so when it is recovered. Such is the case with a translation of the Aeneid by CS Lewis, which has come to light long after scholars assumed it had perished in a bonfire of Lewis's notebooks after his death in 1963.

Jan Gossaert is hardly a household name. However, the Old Master, known in his early 16th Century heyday as Jan Mabuse, is widely credited with changing the course of Flemish art, taking the tradition of Jan van Eyck and melding it with Italianate techniques.

The 1960s was the decade when the early music group came of age, with historically authentic ensembles such as New York Pro Musica, Studio der Frühen Musik (Munich), and David Munrow's Early Music Consort of London reaching new levels of technical and musical excellence on period instruments. The lutenist James Tyler was a member of all three groups, during the early part of a career that was devoted to the historically accurate performance of music for plucked strings. His death has robbed the early music world of one of the finest, most knowledgeable, and most likeable exponents of those instruments.

Can there be any motif more common in the Western canon than the crucifixion of Jesus Christ? And yet when we come to consider the painted images of Christ on the cross that we best remember, we think of the Italian Renaissance, of Masaccio, Raphael, Michelangelo and others. And perhaps of the 17th century too – Zurbaran, for example. After that, we begin to falter. This important exhibition at the London Jewish Museum of Art invites us to consider how the idea of the crucifixion was seized upon by painters of the 20th century, and whether its meaning changed because of the history of that century. Just as importantly, it examines the meaning that the crucifixion came to have for Jewish painters, such as Marc Chagall.

If he is remembered at all, Pater is known for his influence on Oscar Wilde. In his introduction to this "incendiary" text of 1873, Matthew Beaumont describes it as being seen in the "bourgeois imagination" as "the literary equivalent of Zuleika Dobson".

So we come to the end of the glittering prize-giving. Frederic Raphael's waspish hero has gone from 17 to 70 as the trilogy which began with The Glittering Prizes comes to its sparkling end. There is no Cambridge equivalent of Oxford's Brideshead Revisited. Perhaps we didn't have enough lords. Like My Friend Judas, Andrew Sinclair's roman à clef also set on the banks of the Cam, The Glittering Prizes was our downmarket equivalent to what a Raphael character refers to as "Weeviling Waugh".